


This Infernal Crusade

by sequence_fairy



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a rumour, Fullmetal, of an alchemist in the south researching ancient Xingese texts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Infernal Crusade

Central Command is always bustling, but there is an especial sense movement today. Ed makes his way to the Colonel’s offices, exactly twenty minutes late to the meeting Mustang had set the night before. The bandages across Ed’s ribs itch, and he quashes the urge to scratch before banging open the door.

Mustang’s men, and Hawkeye snap to before realizing it’s just Ed. The door to the Colonel’s office is closed. Ed sweeps through the room, ignoring everyone in it, and barges through the door. “You’re late Fullmetal,” the Colonel deadpans, and Ed snorts. He flops down on one of the couches, sprawling onto his back. “You’re the one that schedules meetings before dawn,” Ed snarks.

“It’s almost noon,” Mustang grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose with forefinger and thumb to ward off the oncoming headache that the elder Elric’s presence in his office often inspires. He takes a deep breath and steeples his hands on his desk, “let’s have the report Fullmetal.” Ed rolls to a seated position, braided hair falling over the shoulder of his red coat.

His lips curve into a snarl, “you knew didn’t you?” Ed asks, eyes flashing cold fire, “you knew what we’d find there in that dump,” Ed gets to his feet, pacing the length of the room and back again. Mustang waits. Ed stops pacing, clenching an unclenching his fists, steel one clicking strangely as he does. “There’s a rumour, Fullmetal,” Ed says, his voice brittle, “of an alchemist in the south who is researching ancient Xingese texts,” Ed turns, bracing both hands on the edge of the Colonel’s desk, “you can’t tell me you didn’t know.”

Mustang remains impassive, and Ed snarls, slamming his steel fist down on the top of the desk. The wood splinters. “Goddamn you Mustang,” Ed says, defeated, and slumps, his fringe falling forward over his face, “Goddamn you.”

“What did you find Edward?” Mustang asks, carefully neutral. He’d had an idea of what the brothers Elric might find, but had hoped to be proved wrong. Clearly, he has been proved right, or worse. Ed looks up, and Mustang is staggered for a moment by the pain in the gold eyes that stare back at him, before Ed drops his gaze and delivers his report, tonelessly and without frivolous commentary. It is, however, very detailed.

When Ed is finished, he looks pale and drawn, and Mustang’s breakfast rolls dangerously in his stomach. “How many?” Mustang asks, not certain he wants to actually hear the answer, or just because the question deserves to be asked. Ed shakes his head, and sinks down to sit on the couch, elbows on his knees and head hanging. “I don’t know,” is the quiet answer, and somehow, the admission is worse than anything else Ed has said in the last twenty minutes. The boy, and Mustang forgets this on a regular basis; no matter how well Ed handles himself in a crisis, _he is still just a boy_ ; is still on the couch, none of his customary fidgeting on display.

They sit in silence until there’s a knock on the door. Mustang does not startle, but the alchemist jumps and hisses in a breath, pressing a hand to his ribs. Small details that Ed has not shared in his verbal report, but that Mustang will get from the official written account in a week, after Ed’s gone from Central back to Resembool, include a number of broken ribs, a field relocation of a dislocated shoulder and some other minor injuries. Mustang knows, because he has them too, that not all injuries scar. 

Hawkeye leans into the room, “you’re needed in the war room Colonel,” she says, and Mustang nods. Ed stands, squares his shoulders under the red coat and without a backward glance leaves the office. Hawkeye raises an eyebrow after Ed’s retreating form and Mustang shakes his head.

“We forget, I think,” Mustang begins, “that no matter what hell they’ve already seen, we send them to worse every time they leave the city.” He leaves his office, closing the door with a soft click.


End file.
